To Ashes
by TheBrokenWarrior
Summary: In a retake on the classic story, "Cinderella", a young girl struggles to find her dreams, while still being pursued by the nightmares of her past. As the fairy tale kingdom is falling apart, with the dangers of war and revolution ever near, Cendra dares to hope that she can remain standing while the world around her is crumbling to ashes.


A greasy candle, the one source of light in the dusky tavern, spluttered as the flame neared the end of the wick. Its weak yellow light flickered on a hunched figure seated at the table, casting a wavering shadow against the opposite wall. He wore a hood, pulled down in such a way as to cast a shadow over his countenance, and he bent over the table as though sleeping. A deadly quiet lay upon the room, broken once only by the wheezy candle.

In a dark corner of the room, a sudden but quiet movement revealed the presence of another. A young man of medium height with a thick but short brown beard rose out of his chair, and going behind the bar, came back with a thin candle of dingy brown color. He stepped silently to the table, and used the dying flame of the first candle to light the second. He watched it for a moment, and then turned to the apparently sleeping shape. With his left hand he touched its shoulder.

"Lord Beaufort," He spoke in a rather gruff voice. "There is no sign of his arrival. It may be that he isn't as trustworthy as you had hoped."

For a few seconds there was no reply. The heavy silence crept into the air once more. But the young man continued to look expectantly towards the bent figure. It remained motionless, but at last from the depths of the hood's shadow came a deep masculine voice, with no sign of drowsiness in it. "He'll come. The stakes are too high for him to be taking unnecessary risks; he would be a fool if he backed out now." The other hesitated, neither agreeing nor protesting, but his face looked doubtful. Another minute passed. "If we stay here much longer," he offered, "we'd be the ones taking an unnecessary risk."

With the faintest of sighs, Lord Beaufort straightened his back and rose into a sitting position. A shadow crossed the top of his face, but the wavering light showed his lower face. His thin lips curled into a contemptuous smile above his sharp chin. "My dear Jack," he said, with the slightest hint of irritation, "Can you not understand the importance of the information we are trying to obtain? The situation we are in is extremely precarious. Our small cause already runs the risk of being infiltrated by spies and traitors. Stumbling about in the dark as we are, it is inevitable that we make mistakes. The man we are expecting tonight has offered to shed a little light upon our path. He claims to have superior knowledge of the political leanings of certain nobles, ones who possess the strength of assets we need in an ally. As you know, there are many we have had our eyes on for a while; the only obstacle preventing communication is the uncertainty of who to ask.

"If all goes well tonight, we will know definitely those who we can confide in, and who we should ignore; who we can obtain help from, and who is useless; who we can continue to trust, and," he paused for half a second, "who we must dispose of. Clearly, such knowledge is of the utmost importance. The risk we take in meeting here is small compared to the danger we face every day, not knowing friend from foe, and the great good we are to accomplish. Surely," he added, his lip curling, "Surely you would not attempt to prevent us from succeeding?"

The other man, Jack, as Beaufort had called him, gave half a start. "Of course not!" He vehemently protested. "To help you succeed - to aid the oppressed underclasses - to drive inequality and injustice from this land - that is the purpose I live for!"

"Of course it is." Beaufort said, laying a calming hand on his companion's shoulder. "This, also, is the goal towards which I strive. But if you are willing to live for it, you must also be ready, if need be, to die for it. Alas, we shall not rise to victory without bloodshed; I fear the selfish nobles will not have it any other way. But cheer up," he said, noticing the other's solemn face, "I doubt we'll need to worry about that tonight. A little negotiating, a few threats, and I'm sure the fellow will give us everything we need without causing trouble. As I said before, he would be a fool to back out now."

As if to confirm his words, a three slow, deliberate knocks were sounded at the door. Beaufort, inwardly cursing his companion's hesitancy at a moment like this, adjusting his position, and nodded to his companion. Jack steadied himself, and taking three swift strides, he reached out and opened the door.

_Ashes… falling softly from the sky, like a grey sprinkle of snow on a cloudy winter day. At first I did not notice them, quietly surrounding me, touching the grass and flowers without sound. They gather in little piles. I catch one in my hand. Unlike snow, it does not melt upon contact with my skin. I hold it delicately, noticing its warmth, thinking of the heat from which it must have awakened - so unlike the cold windy birth of a snowflake. _

"Cendra..."

_More and more fall around me - on the flowers I was picking, in my hair, in my open hands. I compare their fragileness to a butterfly's wing, and as the soft wind carries them through the air, I feel they are alive. "Go on, fly!" I whisper, without bothering to put reason into my words, "Find your freedom…" I blow the ashes off my hands, and watch them float away. A slight smile lights my face._

"Cendra."

_I've already forgotten how I arrived in this field, and why I came here. I don't think I could remember my name if I tried. It doesn't matter; I won't worry about such things. I look up at the sky and twirl around, laughing. It feels good to laugh. Though I can't remember my past, I don't think I've laughed in a long time. I fall on my back, dizzy. The smile fades as my eyes focus and I see thick clouds of smoke drifting through the air. Suddenly I realize what it signifies. Fire. Destruction. Death. _

_Where am I? What am I doing here? My name - I've forgotten my name!_

"Cendra!"

"Hmm?"

"I've called you three times now." She stated, hands on her hips. Her face wore an annoyed expression. "Oh, sorry," Cendra said, looking away from her sister and at the cramped, messy dining room she was sitting in. A wooden table, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs, was the main furnishing, but various cabinets and boxes filled the rest. "I forgot my name."

"What?"

"Nothing, Evel." Cendra replied quickly, shaking her head vigorously. "Don't mind me; I'm a little tired, that's all. What is it that you wanted to say to me?" She eyed the spoon in her hand, and realized she had been focused on eating her oatmeal before she was occupied with other thoughts.

"You are always tired," sighed her sister, sitting down next to her. "If you'd go to bed at a decent hour instead of staying up reading, you wouldn't be so cranky, and you probably wouldn't do weird things like this. I wish you would help me out with the kids more."

"I do try to help out!" Cendra sputtered angrily. "It's just that they have no respect for me whatsoever, and it's so hard when the house is so messy-"

"You see what I mean?" Evel interrupted, standing up again. "You don't work enough, and you shout too much."

Cendra was silent. Her sister, of course was right. Evel was a slim, sweet tempered girl of fourteen. She had light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had been doing most of the house care for the past two years, often going above and beyond the call of duty when it came to taking care of sick children in the middle of the night, making meals, cleaning rooms, and obeying any order their mother gave her. In contrast to this, Cendra was a tall almost-seventeen year old, not exactly slender, with a surly temper and a bad habit of spending the whole day doing nothing. She was an avid reader, and preferred taking a book and shutting herself in an imaginary world to facing reality and the many dangers it held.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, sighing. "I'll try to be better today. I know you carry a lot of weight on your shoulders, and I should help you out more." In an effort to make Evel laugh, she then added, in a mock-gallant tone, "I promise to do whatever it takes to serve my fair lady, that I may once more have the honour of seeing her smile."

She stood up as she said this, and attempted to sweep an elaborate bow. Her hand swung out to the side, knocking the bowl of oatmeal off the table, completely ruining the grandness of the moment she had intended. As she scurried to clean the mess up, she glanced up and saw Evel turn away to hide a smile. The attempt wasn't all in vain, then.

Later that night, Cendra tiptoed out of the nursery, humming a lullaby absentmindedly. Looking down the hallway, she saw Evel coming towards her with an armful of laundry. Cendra put a finger on her lips to caution her to be silent, and her sister nodded. She crept into the room as silently as she could, and deposited the clothes in a hamper in the corner. Stepping out again, the door was closed, and the two sisters continued silently downstairs. Only then did they begin to speak.

Cendra opened her mouth first. "Is mother all right?" She asked, still keeping her voice low.

"Yes, she's fine. A little more tired than usual, but she had a hard day at work. She's asleep now."

Their mother worked at a seamstress' shop a mile from their house. While the pay was decent, the hours were long, and she often worked from dawn to dusk, measuring, cutting, and sewing the dresses and suits to be worn by the noble ladies and gentlemen so much more fortunate than her. The owner of the shop had a nasty temper, and kept a strict schedule. A few months before, she had dismissed one of her helpers for sleeping in, and subsequently missing half a day's work. It might have been a blow to the poor woman, but it was lucky for Cendra's mother, because otherwise there might not have been an opening for her.

"I'm glad to hear it." Cendra replied. "She needs to sleep more often." Ignoring the irony of her sentence, she continued to say: "The boys are all asleep. Little Robert wanted me to sing, but I ran out of songs eventually, and I had to make up my own. The older boys said I did it so well, they didn't even know the difference."

Evel smiled. "I'm not surprised. You are good at poetry." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "However, I'm afraid the same can't be said of your singing abilities."

Cendra made a face, but refrained from replying. She turned to the bookshelf, and began rummaging around for the novel she had been reading the day before. She was stopped by Evel, who put a hand on her arm. "Did you forget already?" Evel teased. "You promised you would go to bed on time tonight."

"On time!" Exclaimed Cendra. "Why, it's only -"

"Ten-thirty." Evel said firmly. "That's way past a decent bedtime."

Cendra moaned. "Why does it take so long to get the kids to sleep?" She complained. "If I can't read, can we at least go outside for a bit and get some fresh air?" Both she and Evel loved taking walks outside. If Evel was in the right mood…

"Well… all right." Her sister said, a little torn between her conscience and her love of the outside.

"Yay!" Cendra squeaked, jumping a foot into the air, completely forgetting in her victory the sleeping people upstairs. "My humble apologies." She muttered when Evel looked sharply at her.

"Let's take a walk." Evel whispered, reaching towards the door handle. She looked back at Cendra, and they both smiled.


End file.
